The Trilemma
by Phoenix-Talon
Summary: Jefferson forces Emma to make a choice about lies, belief, and insanity. Oneshot, maybe some mild Mad Swan if you interpret it that way.


**AN: This has been marinating in my head for weeks. My thanks to C.S. Lewis for inspiring it. I own nothing, not even Jefferson's argument. Please read and review!**

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Emma dreamed of the forest often, but there seemed something off about this particular one. For the most part, she was a lucid dreamer, meaning she could generally control and manipulate events in her dreams with no trouble. She taught herself to do this when she was a child, when the real world became dark and unforgiving. During those times, her dreams seemed vastly more appealing than residing in the real world. They became her escape. She never lost the ability as she grew up.

It was rather alarming that in this _particular_ dream, she couldn't do her usual dream-tricks—lifting off into the air, conjuring up an attractive male companion, perhaps revisiting a deceased pet. She simply stood, taking in the setting. Her surroundings bewildered her.

For one thing, this forest had a hazy, misty quality to it. It was thick with trees, but underneath each one there was a small pool of water. The atmosphere was sleepy and strange—she felt as though she'd taken a great deal of cold medicine or was drunk. There were no birds, no animal sounds, just an eerie, unearthly quiet. The thick silence seemed deafening, and she almost found herself forgetting who she was. It was hypnotic and dazing. She couldn't be anymore unnerved when she noticed a guinea pig nosing around near her feet.

"Well, it just figures _you_ would be here."

Emma jumped. She turned to see a scruffy young man, twirling an overly large hat in his hands. Her eyes widened—she knew that man.

"You," She growled, letting her anger disguise her fear. Her fists clenched into fists. She tried to imagine a gun or a knife in her hands—this may be a dream, but she wasn't ready to let it turn into a nightmare. It was to no avail. She scrunched her face harder, concentrating.

"Oh, stop it," Jefferson said in a bored tone. "There's no need for that. Besides, it won't work anyhow."

"Excuse me if I don't believe the man who drugged me, kidnapped my friend, threatened me with a gun, and tried to kill me!" Emma snarled, choosing to ignore his latter comment. .

"Well, you and Mary Margaret pushed me out a window, so let's call it even," Jefferson suggested agreeably. Emma bared her teeth.

"Not likely," She snapped. "You keep away from me." She took two steps backwards, not taking her eyes off of him.

"I'll admit you've seen me at my worst," Jefferson decided to acknowledge. "Desperation doesn't do great things to a man. But it's not like I can do anything to you here."

"That's right you can't!" Emma proclaimed triumphantly. "Because this is _my_ dream and _my _world. You don't want to mess with me here." It didn't matter that she was having trouble accessing the former lucidity of her dreams. She felt confident in her mental abilities to oust intruders.

Jefferson looked unimpressed. "It doesn't work like that. This isn't your dream."

Emma scoffed. "I always know when I'm dreaming."

"Maybe usually," Jefferson conceded. "But not now. Not here. This place isn't from your imagination or thoughts. This is elsewhere."

"What?" Emma said exasperatedly.

Jefferson rolled his eyes impatiently. "This is an inbetween. A place between worlds. They show up in different ways—a room with different doors, a cave with cracks to another side—this is one of the more expansive inbetweens. Frankly, I'm surprised you managed to get here." He raised an eyebrow to recognize this. "Usually you need a key to get to a place like this—a wardrobe, a ring," He sneered. "A magic hat."

"You're insane," Emma informed him.

"Sometimes," Jefferson accepted. "Goes with the territory, the moniker, you know. Unfortunately for you, I also happen to be one of the few people who actually know what's going on, not just here, but in Storybrooke."

Emma snorted. "Oh really? Now you're going to go off on more of that crazy rant about different worlds and how you're _actually_ the Mad Hatter? Give me a break. Or better yet, some actual logic." She turned to walk away from him, hoping the movement would be enough to awaken her, but it was to no avail. Even worse, Jefferson began to walk with her.

"You want logic?" He asked sardonically. "Then do allow me to supply some for you. There are very few people in Storybrooke who know the truth—your son is one of them."

Emma stopped short and glared at him fiercely. "You keep Henry out of your craziness," She ordered. "Do you hear me? You stay away from him."

"Is your son a liar?" Jefferson demanded.

Emma was shocked. "Excuse me?"

"Is your son a liar?" Jefferson faced her squarely. "You have a faulty gift, but a reasonably accurate sense of when someone's lying or not. So tell me. Is Henry a liar?"

"No," Emma resisted the urge to punch his smug face. "He's never lied to anyone—he doesn't even like lying to Regina, weird as that is. But he always tells me and everyone else the truth. Or what he _thinks_ is the truth." She added her final statement quickly.

"Is your son mad?" Jefferson's voice became dangerously calm. Emma didn't like where this was going. She didn't answer.

"Come on, Emma," Jefferson urged. "Be honest with me. Is Henry insane?"

"He sees a therapist," Emma said unwillingly. "Archie thinks—this whole fairytale thing is his way of communicating to us."

"So Jiminy thinks there is something unbalanced about Henry," Jefferson put a mocking finger to his chin. "Let's explore that, shall we? You've spent a good amount of time with him by now. You've also," A wicked smirk developed on his features. "Spent time with a _real _madman. So tell me. Do you think Jiminy's right? That your darling son is crazy?"

Emma stubbornly refused to answer.

"I'll take your silence as assent if you don't respond," Jefferson twirled his hat idly.

"He's not crazy," Emma snapped. "No. He's not—he's not insane, there isn't anything wrong with him. He's just—he's just confused."

"Confused how?"

"Just confused! Because this whole fairytale nonsense _can't_ be true!" Emma shouted.

Jefferson's smirk grew wider. "We seem to be a stalemate, Emma. There are three options here—consider them wisely. Henry is either a liar, insane, or—telling the truth. No matter how improbable, no matter how impossible, if we are two rule out the first two possibilities—only one remains."

Emma was speechless for a moment, but somehow regained her composure. "I'm not taking logic lessons from a psychotic freak!"

Jefferson ignored the slight. "Consider wisely, Emma. Consider all that's happened to you here and all that you've seen. Because somehow, at some point, you're going to have to accept that either Henry is an attention-seeking liar—"

Jefferson had to duck to avoid Emma's fist.

"Someone who is seriously wrong in his head—on the level of someone who thinks he's a poached egg," Jefferson laughed at his own joke. "Or that everything he's told you, everything he believes—is true."

Emma nearly hit him again but was blocked by an onslaught of images. Things that had happened to her. Seeing the wolf Graham had been babbling about, the day he died. His sudden, unexplained death. How no one could clearly tell her how they came to be in Storybrooke or who offered up garbled, hazy memories. She faltered.

Jefferson grinned. "Until we meet again, Emma, which will probably be very soon." He strode towards the nearest pool and leapt. Emma expected a mighty splash but was stunned to see him disappear into the pool, swallowing him up like quicksand. She cried out in fear.

And with that, she awoke.


End file.
